


Look on My Works

by Sineala



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Psychic Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two CI5 agents, two wolves, one Ford Capri. It's not going to be a good night. Or maybe it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look on My Works

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have given Bodie and Doyle psychic wolves. Pros fen, you don't need to know anything about the other fandom except that there are psychic wolves.

It was going to be a rotten night.

The problem, Bodie reckoned, was the radio men. Hair gets in the equipment, they said. No, 3.7, you can't have him in here for the op, they said. Even though there was more space in the van than here. Couldn't be done, they said. Picking a bit of fur out of the speaker grille of his R/T, Bodie was willing to admit they had a point, but he didn't much care for the solution.

Neither did the wolves.

Course, they didn't much care for the entire sitting-and-waiting parts of the obbos either, no matter where you held them. No one did, really, but at least when men didn't care they expressed it less... pointedly. And maybe Ozy had growled a bit at 7.1, but it hadn't even been a real growl. And then, then, the radio men had kicked them out. So they were here.

It was like the opening to a bad joke, really, it was: two CI5 agents, a sizable quantity of weaponry and ammunition, a fair bit of expensive electronic gear, and two full-grown wolves. In a Ford Capri.

"They're scared, that's what they are," Bodie said contemplatively, and next to him Doyle startled awake with a jerk.

"Eh? Who?"

In the back seat, Spike raised her head when Doyle did.

"Head back down, if you please," Doyle said, automatically, to his sister. At least that way they'd be a little less visible. There was no sense in giving themselves away to anyone who happened to stroll by the car. Wasn't like most people were bonded to wolves, after all. And Bodie could feel him pushing _calm, rest, nothing happening yet_ through the pack-sense. Doyle was good at calming the pack, for all that he was a little on the hot-headed side himself. He had been like that since the day they met, and Bodie hoped this partnership was going to work out.

Spike whined a little, high in her throat, but did as she was told. Ozymandias, of course, was still lying there, placidly. He looked asleep, but Bodie knew, with a certainty that pounded through his skull, that his brother would be ready to leap the instant you needed him. Always was.

"Everyone else. The unbonded agents," Bodie clarified. "Scared of you and me." He leaned back and let himself smile. "Mostly me, with a monster like Ozy is."

He watched in amusement as Doyle glared, and then Doyle managed to smirk back. "Yeah, mate, scared of you until they find out you named him bloody Ozymandias. That'll strike terror into the hearts of men."

Bodie'd had exactly one book in Africa, a slim little volume of poetry he'd taken off some unlucky sod who didn't need any more poetry, or anything else, being as he'd been thoroughly dead at the time. It had had Keats and Byron and Shelley and all the rest. He'd read it cover to cover. And then, well, the mercs had given him a wolf pup, and when the little furball blinked and he felt _hot desert wind, blowing sand over desolate stone_ , so much he was practically crunching the grains of sand between his teeth, what else was he supposed to do? You couldn't feel a thing like that and then just call your brother Fido.

"It's his _name_ , isn't it? At least it's got some poetry to it. And I suppose you think yours is better? I know what they say. Every copper names his sister or brother Killer or Spike, something mean like that. And it's true. Look what you did."

Doyle snorted. "Well, it's her name too. It's her proper name. So don't be giving me a hard time. I know you know I'm right."

It was true enough; Spike's scent-name was all cold steel, dangerous and knife-sharp, with the iron-laced taste of blood. If any wolf deserved the name, she did. But he wasn't about to concede anything to Doyle just because it was true.

"I know what else they say," Bodie said, after a long silence in the dark, and then dared to say the rest. "About men who bond to bitches."

Doyle tensed, and in the mirror Bodie saw Spike's ears go up.

"Listen," Doyle said, and his voice was ice. "We might be partners for now, but if you're going to tell me I'm a fairy because I get buggered when Spike wants it, I am fucking well going to the Cow and requesting a reassignment." Every word was delivered slowly, with pinpoint precision, like a bullet. "You know I will. And then they'll stick you with McCabe, whose brother couldn't kill a mouse if you trapped it for him and gave it to him in a box. So don't."

Bodie cleared his throat, cleared his mind, and pushed openness and curiosity out through the pack-sense. "I... wasn't meaning to offend you."

Doyle just looked confused. "Then what?"

"I was hoping," said Bodie, his mouth dry, "that you might be interested in something the rest of the time." And he reached out and laid his hand across Doyle's.

Doyle looked at him-- and burst into laughter. "Tell me you're not just doing this to get in good with Spike the next time she's in heat. You know, there's always Cowley's sister, yeah? Try this on the old man--"

Bodie attempted to not think about the mental image this presented and failed miserably. "Jesus Christ, Doyle, I just meant--"

"I know," Doyle said, and filtered through the pack-sense was amusement and liking, and that was all he got before Doyle reached out for Bodie's head, dragged him out of his seat and halfway across the car, and kissed him. It was a sloppy distracted mess of a kiss, and Bodie loved every second of it.

Finally they drew apart, and Bodie stared stupidly at Doyle's face in the darkness for a bit before he remembered. "Right. One of us is watching that building. I mean us, not the wolves. That means no kissing."

Doyle just looked sad, but he glanced over at the doorway they were supposed to be observing anyway.

"So undo your flies," Bodie continued. As invitations went, it was not his most charming, but it was enough. Doyle understood him. It would be good.

Doyle started laughing again. "Oh, that's very romantic." He did not, however, say no, and as he spoke his fingers were already at the waist of his jeans.

"I am very Romantic," said Bodie, even if Doyle didn't hear the capital letter. "I thought we discussed this."

He leaned over, and shortly after that Doyle couldn't manage to say anything else in reply, snappy retorts or otherwise. Bodie thought the wolves were only pretending not to notice, but he shortly found that he was no longer concerned with that.

The rest of the obbo was very nice indeed.

"Next time," Doyle panted, afterwards, wiping off his hand and then his mouth, "we are not doing this in a car."

"I have a bed," Bodie offered. "Lovely big one."

And Doyle grinned and kissed him again. It was going to be a good night.


End file.
